


No Reservations

by cattacodinosaur



Category: Rhett & Link
Genre: M/M, chef link, foodie rhett, some sex stuff, terrible at tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-13
Updated: 2017-01-13
Packaged: 2018-09-17 03:54:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9302999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cattacodinosaur/pseuds/cattacodinosaur
Summary: Link is an accomplished chef with a critically acclaimed restaurant. Rhett is a food critic who just really loves food. Y'all can probably guess what's going to happen.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts), [Remembertherandler](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Remembertherandler/gifts).



> This was written for two lovely friends of mine who requested 1. Link as a chef 2. Rhett at a critic who just really loves food 3. An exasperated Link and 4. tomato sauce on a finger. I tried my best. 
> 
> Check them out on tumblr @thegreyhenley and @remembertherandler and don't forget to pop in and say hello to me on mine @cattacodinosaur.

* * *

* * *

 

**_Saturday night May 20, 7:35 PM_ **

  
    The dining hall of the restaurant was buzzing with satisfied murmurs and joyful whispers. Not a single chair was empty, and truth be told, hadn't been since _Aroma_ had opened to stellar reviews six months prior. The restaurant boasted fine fusion cuisine in a down to earth, comfortable environment. While other trendy restaurants in the city had catered to the young millennials- bearded suspender wearing, mason jar drinking, deconstructed dinner on a block of exotic imported hardwood hipsters- _Aroma_ had a far different approach. The owner and head chef of _Aroma_ , a Mr. C. Lincoln Neal, had one thing in mind when he sat down to curate the gastronomical wonderment that would be his labor of love. He wanted to give people that down home, made with love in a cast iron skillet fare he had grown up with. But he wanted to bring it to, not the next level, but several levels beyond. He wanted to maintain the integrity of his Southern roots while paving a new path in the culinary community. And it had been a mammoth of a success. Tables were booked a month in advance before the restaurant had even hung the sign above the entry. While the food had to be upscale, unique yet familiar, and out of this world; the interior needed to be cozy. There were several long tables that ran the length of the dining room, long enough to seat sixteen to eighteen people at a time. The tables were re-purposed butcher's tables- warped and chipped and stained from decades of use. And thick, nearly a foot thick. Each table was made differently, having been an original table used for butchering by weathered farm hands. Each table told a story. Not only in the metaphorical sense, but in actuality. Link, as his family called him, had made sure that each family's story was printed on small markers that were placed on each table. Link had traveled throughout the Appalachian mountain region, under the Southern Sun, down in the heart of Texas straight through Middle America and on up to the stony peaks of Montana in search of these tables, these stories.

    His intention for the family style seating arrangement came from the Southern Hospitality he grew up with. There was always room at the table for one more. Always enough food to go 'round, even if it wasn't much. He wanted people to come together, break bread together, become a family in a world that was so hellbent on keeping people apart. The chairs were mismatched and the decor was familiar. Homey and kitschy, but not in a manufactured way he had seen in "Down Home" style restaurants. He wanted it to look like your grandma's kitchen, but with little winks and nods. Photos of customers sitting at the long tables were framed and hung on the walls. A record player sat on a shelf and invited the guests to "Pick an album an' have a good time!" There were mason jars on the premises, but they were used unironically. Each jar contained jams, jellies, pickles or handmade candies. All for sale and all made with recipes provided from families Link met on his travels. Auntie Edna's Peach Jam-1934 from Stockbridge, Georgia was a big hit. When Link served it with his always hot and fresh lightly spiced biscuits, mouths watered and guests clamored to get another taste of the sweet sauce.

    Link hadn't set out to be the most sought after reservation in the city. He didn't see himself that way. He just wanted to feed people in the most authentic way he knew how. It turns out, people were tired of the ultra modern, streamlined restaurants where the wait staff was nearly identical in looks and mannerisms and the food was overly complicated foams and coulis'. The diners began realizing they were paying big money to eat airy puffs of liquid food and pureed vegetables on a small piece of protein. The super hip joints were falling out of favor, customers were tiring of being fed super pretentious buzzwords like 'kale' and 'locally sourced, free range' and 'superfood'. Link just wanted to feed people. All people. There was no dress code, no age limit, no secret password to get in the door.

    "Another packed house, eh boss?!" A petite blonde waitress greeted Link with a sweet smile and a wave. She did not wear a name tag or a uniform, for that manner. Link wanted his staff to express themselves and behave as if each customer was a member of their family. Her name, Lizzie, was scrawled on a chalkboard at her designated table for the night. Each host had one large table that they were responsible for.

    "What's with the empty seat over there?" He nudged his head toward a singular empty chair at her table. The staff went to great lengths to make sure each table was filled for their reserved time. A single reservation was rare, but not unheard of.

    Lizzie followed his gaze as she loaded her arms with plates of slow roasted beef and bowls of various fixins. "Oh, it's an eight o'clock reservation for one. And you'll never guess who it is!"

    Link followed her to the table and greeted every guest with a warm hello, a handshake or a hug and heartfelt gratitude. Lizzie distributed the first round of plates with care and led Link back to the kitchen. "No idea, who?" He was never any good at guessing games. He didn't know a celebrity from any other person on the street. Their popularity and income didn't matter to him. All that mattered was they liked his food.

    "It's the food critic for The Daily News! Isn't that exciting! Are you nervous? What if he doesn't like your food?"

    Link slid into his black chef's jacket. "You mean _'The Hungry Traveler'_? Lizzie, the man likes everything he's ever eaten. I read his column every Sunday. He's somehow managed to remain anonymous while simultaneously giving every restaurant he's ever been to at least four stars. The worst review he ever gave was, and I quote, _' The Grandview Inn has a welcoming atmosphere and the plates of food were plentiful, leaving this hungry traveler filled with delectable dishes and a grand view. However, I didn't care for the liver. It was cooked to perfection with all the right seasonings. I just don't like liver. But I do like The Grandview Inn and will definitely travel there again. Four stars out of five._ '"

    "Really? How does that work? Isn't the job of a food critic supposed to be, like, an angry old man who finds flaws with every little detail?" Lizzie loaded up her tray with family size platters of biscuits for sharing.

    "That's what I always thought. I mean, it doesn't matter to me if this restaurant got one star or one hundred. I just want to..."

    Lizzie joined in unison, "... just want to feed people." She winked at him, "we all do. That's why we do this."

    Lizzie disappeared out the swinging kitchen door. Link took in the mood of his kitchen staff. They were working diligently on different components. The rush of most restaurants was not evident in Link's kitchen. He wanted the food made right and made well. If that meant that it took a little longer to knead the bread dough or to perfectly sear a roast, so be it. He loved the staff he had hired. Each person had their own personality and unique way of producing the food. He positioned himself at his station by the large vintage stove and began to prepare the meal that would be served to the mysterious Hungry Traveler.

* * *

* * *

 

_**Monday, May 15- five days earlier** _

    Rhett McLaughlin pulled the old wooden door to a run down building on the corner of Maple and Broad. He had heard of this place from a coworker who had heard of it from their neighbor's client. A local chef had come up with the idea of a free cooking class for whoever wanted it. His neighbor's client, a recovering addict with a dream of being a chef, had heard about it from the chef himself. "The chef came into the shelter one day, she said. Asked if anyone was interested in learning how to cook and handed out several pamphlets." Rhett was immediately intrigued and inquired about the address and restrictions. He was amazed to learn that the only restriction was "come if you love food, but bring an item to donate to the local food bank."

    Rhett loved food. He loved to eat it, smell it, look at it. He just never tried cooking his own. For a man who seemed to love food as much as he did, he was not a large man. Well, large in the sense that he was overweight. Rhett stood tall at six feet seven inches and styled his hair an additional inch or two higher still. He reasoned that, if anyone could teach him how to cook, it'd be a local chef. He was amazed that there was no cost. That he could just walk into the building and ask for an apron and a knife, no questions or down payments asked.

    The interior of the building was not as run down as the facade. The chef had remodeled the space to be an open floor plan in bright whites and soft eggshell blues. There was a wall of ovens, several large pantries and two rows of counter tops with built in ranges. Rhett looked around and fiddled with the large can of beans he planned to donate. He hoped that the can would go to someone who loved beans just as much as he did. There were already a few people milling about the place, some seated at the large metal table, others leaning against the counter. It looked like a young couple on a date and an older man dressed in shabby clothing were going to join him. The young couple held some boxes of cereal, while the older man was empty handed. Rhett hoped that the chef wouldn't scold him for not following the rules and silently wished he had brought an extra item to share with the man.

    Behind him, Rhett heard the door creak, then slam shut. "Hey there, folks. Sorry I'm a little late. The bus driver needed help unloading a disabled rider." The man was tall, probably six foot or so, with dark hair cropped shorter on the sides and swept haphazardly away from the man's large forehead. His dark framed glasses slide down his nose and he moved to adjust them, dropping his canvas bags in the process. "Oh, shoot."

    Rhett, being closest to the man, rushed to help him gather his items. It was then that he got a good look at the man in front of him. His sparkling blue eyes shone brightly from behind the thick lenses. His nose was long and came to a point above full lips with a pronounced cupid's bow. Rhett recognized the face from articles published in local papers and magazines, but print did not do the man justice. He was stunning up close. "Hey, I know you! You're the owner of _Aroma_! Wow, man! I didn't know this was your place!"

    The man blushed and slid past Rhett. Rhett's smile faltered. Was he wrong? Did he say something bad? He felt his ears begin to burn, so he took his place in the back of the room, away from the embarrassing moment he created.

    "Thanks for coming today, I see three new faces and one face I've seen before. How are you doin' today, Chuck?" Link addressed the older gentleman with a pure smile.

    "Can't complain, Mr. Neal. What are we making today?" Chuck grinned a weathered grin and clapped his hands together.

    "Well, I'm glad you asked, Chuck. Today we are making...lasagna!" Link reached into his bag and pulled out several bunches of bright red tomatoes, still on the vine. He passed out a cluster of them to Chuck, the young couple, and Rhett. Rhett looked down at the tomatoes with a worried frown.

    "We're gonna make our own sauce?"

    "What did you think we would do? Doctor up some sauce from a can?" Link sat his bunch of tomatoes on the counter in front of him and crossed his arms. Rhett suddenly felt several feet smaller. It was clear this man did not like him.

    "I...I don't know what I thought." Rhett looked down and whispered.

    Link huffed quietly and began to talk about the importance of fresh ingredients. "We're gonna get started here by making our sauce. We want to let it simmer for quite a while before be can even assemble the dish." He demonstrated how to chop the tomatoes, how to season them and allow them to break down. Rhett watched him make the rounds, clapping Chuck on the back and telling him well done. Applauding the couple on their knife skills, but when he came to Rhett, he gasped. "What are you doing to those poor tomatoes?"

    "I'm chopping them like you said." Rhett looked down at the mess of juice and pulp on his cutting board. "I'm just going to turn them into sauce anyway. What's the big deal?"

    "The big deal? You may be a giant oaf, but these tomatoes are delicate. Look at all this wasted flavor! These bits! This is flavor! That juice that is dripping down onto your shoe? Flavor! All vital parts of the dish!"

    Rhett felt his ears begin to burn again. "I'm doing my best."

    "Ugh, moving on." Link took his spot at the front of the room and began measuring out semolina flour into three bowls. "Next step...homemade pasta!"

    Rhett groaned. He couldn't even chop a tomato right. How on earth was he going to be able to make pasta from scratch? Link was handing out eggs, looking up in time to see the giant man sling his satchel over his shoulder. "Where do you think you're going?"

    "I love food, but this is pretty advanced for me. I'm sorry I wasted your time, Mr. Neal." He handed Link the can of beans and smiled weakly. As he closed the door behind him, he heard Chuck scold his teacher.

    "You were awfully rude to him, young man. He just wanted to learn how to cook. Isn't that what you wanted when you opened this place?"

    "Not now, Chuck. Not now."

* * *

* * *

  
_**Saturday, May 20 8:05 PM** _

    "Link, he's here!" Lizzie skipped through the swinging door. Link was engrossed in the fried chicken he was preparing for the critic's arrival.

    "Watch this for a moment," Link instructed a young chef standing near him. He poked his head out the door to peek at the once empty chair.

    "Oh, no." Link groaned and placed his head on the door.

    "What's wrong?" Lizzie's face fell.

    "I think we might get the lowest score ever from _The Hungry Traveler_." He went back to his chicken.

    "What? Why?" Everyone stopped to look at Link.

    "I may have called him a giant oaf..." Link looked down, embarrassed.

    "Oh, Link. You didn't know it was him, though." Lizzie peeked back out the window. "But, that's not like you. You're the nicest person on the planet."

    "I know! I know. Damn." Link placed the chicken on a plate with heaps of lightly sauteed greens and a generous portion of black-eyed peas. "I'm going to take this out if you don't mind." He took the plate in his trembling hands and slid past Lizzie. The man was laughing, deep and hearty with his table mates. A warm biscuit with jelly hovered near his lips, awaiting inspection. Link gulped.

    "Oh, man! This jam! These biscuits! Mmm!" He looked at the woman seated beside him. "Man!" She threw her head back and giggled.

    "Alright, how y'all doing?" Link sat the plate in front of the man. He looked up, his jade eyes connecting with Link's cerulean ones and frowned.

    "Doin' alright. Been trying to get into this restaurant for months. Finally had a coworker pull some strings to get me in. My reservation wasn't until October!" He smiled again at the woman beside him.

    "I just want to apologize..." Link began.

    "Apologize? For what? Forgive me, sometimes I can be _a giant oaf_ when it comes to remembering things." Rhett winked and bit into the moist chicken. "Oh, goodness. This is better than my mama's."

    "I...oh. Well, I hope the rest of the meal is just as good." Link sputtered and hurried back into the kitchen.

    Link found himself watching the man eat his entire meal as well as several more items ordered through Lizzie. "He wants to try everything on the menu! What do we do? The next reservations are here!" She gasped.

    "Bring him back here. I'll set up a table for him." Link maneuvered through the kitchen like a dancer, arriving at a small kitchenette that he used to develop recipes and craft the handmade candies. The room was much cooler than the commercial kitchen and suited the temperamental nature of candy making far better than the hot kitchen out front. The smaller kitchen looked more like a home kitchen, but with a large island in the center. It wasn't glamorous and the atmosphere left little to be desired. He just hoped that at this point, the critic would be done judging his surroundings. There was a knock on the door. Lizzie poked her head in.

    "Link? Are you ready for him?" Link nodded nervously as the tall man ducked through the doorway and stuck out his hand.

    "Rhett McLaughlin."

    "I know who you really are...now. I mean. I didn't the other day...oh. I'm sorry. I'm not usually such a jerk." Link was stuttering and the man was smiling, which only led to Link stuttering more.

    "How did you find out? I'm supposed to be mysterious."

    "Next time your boss pulls some strings to get a reservation, tell him to not use the name of the column." Link chuckled softly. "Here, have a seat. I know this isn't as nice as it is out front, but..." he steered Rhett to the island and gently pushed him down in the stool.

    "Oh, gosh. You won't tell the other restaurants, will you?"

    "Oh, no! I'm a huge fan of your column. I read it every Sunday. I've even memorized a few. Can I ask you a question?" Link placed an empty plate in front of Rhett, spooning a helping of grits with Gouda and herbs onto it.

    "Sure."

    "Were you going to critique my class?"

    "What? No. I really wanted to learn how to cook. I know my reputation. I know that everyone gets annoyed that I can't say anything bad about any of the food I've eaten. I just love food! I was really embarrassed, though. I didn't mean to upset you." Rhett shoveled a bite in his mouth and moaned. "Oh, you are some sort of food sorcerer. This is like what my gran would make...but a million times better. Mmm."

    "I didn't mean to embarrass you. A lot of the students that come in don't know I own _Aroma_ , or they don't really mention it. I don't want my class to become another restaurant with reservations and all the publicity. It's a word of mouth thing. I started it out as a way to help homeless people, but others started finding out. I buy all the ingredients with my own money. No charge to anyone. And you get to eat what you make. I just want to feed people."

    "That's amazing. I'm sorry I disrespected the tomatoes." He finished the plate and pushed it back to Link. Link smiled and felt his cheeks grow warm.

    "I'm sorry I called you an oaf." He turned his back, but could still feel those jade eyes on his back.

    "I am a bit of an oaf." He chuckled lightly. "I'd still like to learn how to cook."

    "Come back at midnight. I'll teach you then. After we're closed and the crew goes home." Link placed a piece of rich chocolaty pudding pie in front of the other man. "Mississippi mud. I got this recipe from a sweet blind woman in Jackson. She'd sell them out of her kitchen window. Best pie I ever ate. And mine ain't near as good."

    Rhett's eyes widened. "Really? Tonight?"

    Link licked a bit of chocolate off his thumb and watched Rhett's eyes follow his tongue. The man was incredibly good looking, Link had to admit. Not that he was looking for a relationship right now. He wasn't even looking for sex. He was too busy with the restaurant and the class he taught on Monday evenings, the one day of the week that _Aroma_ was closed.

  
    "Yeah, tonight. We're making lasagna."

* * *

* * *

 

_**Saturday night, May 20th 11:45 PM** _

    Rhett returned to the restaurant feeling both nervous and a little giddy. He told himself the nervousness was due to the fear of messing up the recipe again. Clearly it wasn't the soft stare of ocean blue eyes or the humble smile pulling at those heart shaped lips.

    "He wouldn't be interested in a giant oaf like me, anyway." Rhett chastised himself as he tapped on the thick glass window. Link looked up from the counter and hurried to the door, unlocking it briefly and welcoming Rhett in.

    "Hey. Um, the staff is just finishing up with the dishes and the cleaning. I just have to settle out the register for the night. Can I get you a drink?" Rhett watched Link gracefully slide back behind the solid oak counter. "I still have some sweet tea left from dinner service."

    "That'd be great, yeah." Rhett smiled. His mouth was dry and the tea had been amazing. "Your food is just, wow. I'm from the south and I've had my fair share of southern food, but yours blows it out of the water."

    "Well, it's not just southern food, although yeah, my southern heritage plays a huge role in what I do. It's comfort food from all over. Like, have you ever had a real, authentic Amish whoopie pie from the Pennsylvania Dutch region? Have you ever had a bowl of clam chowder made in a hand-me-down pot with clams caught fresh that morning, just a mile down the road? Have you ever had gnocchi made by an Italian immigrant grandmother who only knows the English for 'eat'? Have you ever had sourdough made from a starter that was over fifty years old? This is what I want the world to see, to taste, to experience." Link spoke with passion in his voice, his hands gesticulating wildly. Rhett was enamored. "Sorry, I hope that didn't sound to pretentious..." Rhett saw a blush creep over Link's cheeks as he poured them each a tall glass of tea.

    "No, man. That was beautiful. That's why I became a critic. I wanted to be able to travel the world and taste everything. And everything tastes so good, man! Well, not cod milt or pig anus. But, the point is I've tried them. I want it all. And I want people to want to try everything too!" Rhett was excited now.

    "But you don't know how to cook?" Link raised an eyebrow.

    "I know, it seems so silly." The two laughed. Rhett liked the sound of Link's laugh. It was high and full and...genuine.

    "We're done, Link. See you tomorrow." The crew waved goodbye, leaving the two men alone.

    "So, shall we begin?" Link locked the register and invited Rhett to follow him back to the small kitchenette.

    "I suppose so. I'm pretty nervous, though." Rhett shoved his hands in his pocket and bit his lip.

    "Don't be nervous. I promise I'm not that jerk you saw the other day." Link looked up into Rhett's eyes, causing him to look away bashfully. "So, first thing's first. Put this apron on and wash up." Link stood on his tiptoes and draped the loop of the apron around Rhett's neck, bringing them face to face. Link's breath was warm and sweet on Rhett's neck and it sent a wave of shivers down his spine.

    "Oh." He struggled to exhale.

    Link flitted around the small kitchen gathering ingredients while Rhett washed his large hands in the deep sink. Rhett was enjoying watching Link's movements. They somehow managed to look both calculated and unintentional. The way he shut a cabinet door with the flick of his small hip, the way he stood on his tiptoes to try to reach the flour on the top shelf and failing. The way he looked at Rhett with large puppy eyes. "Could you...?" He motioned his head to the high shelf.

    Rhett's long strides brought him behind Link in no time. He aligned his larger body to the smaller back, wrapping one arm around Link's broad shoulders and reaching up to the top shelf with the other arm. His chest grazed Link's back, his fingers danced just barely above the thin cotton of Link's t-shirt. Link's hair smelled amazing, fresh and earthy. Rhett would have thought it would smell like fried food and a hot kitchen. Link's breaths were shallow and Rhett knew that he was holding his own breath too. "Um, so...sauce first, right?" Rhett stepped back, juggling the bag of flour from one hand to the other.

    Link's eyes were glazed. "Hmm? What? Oh. The sauce, yeah. Start chopping up the tomatoes. But do it right this time." He winked and Rhett smiled, allowing the friendly jab. Rhett sliced into the fleshy fruit, slowly; concentrating on each movement. He was careful to not squish them or get tomato juice on his shoe again.   
"Great job, Rhett! Now put them in your pot to reduce while we saute some onions, garlic, and herbs in olive oil. Can you dice up the onion and the garlic, but smaller than the tomatoes? I'm going to get the beef and sausage going. Have you ever cooked up ground beef?"

    Rhett nodded. "Yeah, I used to make hamburger Helper in college." Link gagged, causing Rhett to laugh loudly. "I know, I know. I lived on Hamburger Helper, Big Macs, and cup'o noodles for four years."

    "I've got a lot of work ahead of me, don't I?" Link moved the meat around in the pan, adding salt and pepper as he stirred. "All done? Throw them in that pan and cook them until translucent."

    "Gosh, it already smells amazing in here. What's next?" The two men spent the next ten minutes browning the meat and sweating the onions before adding them to the simmering tomatoes. "Now, we let that simmer for a while. On to the pasta!"

  
Rhett watched as Link demonstrated how to make handmade pasta. He first placed a mound of the semolina flour on the counter top added a pinch of salt and made a well in the center of the flour. He cracked several fresh, large eggs into the well and instructed Rhett to begin mixing it together. "Your hands are your best tool in the kitchen. You want to feel the food. How does that feel?"

    "Gloopy," Rhett said simply, working the eggs into the flour. Soon, the mixture came together into a rough ball of dough.

    "We're gonna knead it now. Like this," Link demonstrated rolling the ball and folding it over onto itself. "You try." Rhett took the ball in his large hands and began working it on the counter, flattening it out and scrunching it back together.

    "No, no. Like this. You wanna form the gluten. Here." Link wrapped his arms around Rhett from behind and placed his smaller hands on Rhett's. His hands were soft and delicate. They moved in tandem with Rhett's, pushing the dough, rolling it and forming the tight structure they desired. Rhett was not about to forget this step in the future. How Link's hands felt on his. How his chest pressed into his shoulder. How his breath tickled his ear. "We should check on the sauce." Rhett finally exhaled as Link crossed the kitchen to the simmering pot on the stove.

    "Is it ready?" Rhett asked, coming up behind him. Link shut off the gas burner and smiled.

    "Yeah. Look at this consistency." He held up the spoon and swiped a long finger through the hot sauce. "See how it doesn't run, that's how you know you have a nice, hearty sauce. Here, taste it."

    Later, it would dawn on Rhett that Link had meant for him to get a spoon and taste the sauce on his own. Later, Link would laugh at Rhett for being so forward. But right now, Rhett's mind was focused on one thing and that was the smaller man. He swooped his head down and caught Link's sauce covered finger in his mouth and gently sucked the thick sauce off, dragging his tongue around the knuckle. He let the tip linger on his lips before pulling his lips off and smiling. "It's wonderful."

    Link's flushed skin rivaled the bright red of the sauce, his eyes never straying from the small mouth wrapped around his finger. His heart raced and fire shot through his body and down to his toes, making an unexpected pit stop at his groin. He moaned as the lips released his finger. "I think I should try it too. You know, to see if you did a good job." He grabbed Rhett's hand and dipped a long finger into the steaming sauce.

    "Ooh, it's hot!" He pulled his finger back from the pot.

    "Let me cool it down for you." Link blew on the extended finger, slowly. His eyes steadfast on the beautiful green eyes above him. Rhett shivered as his finger entered Link's mouth. While Rhett's movements with his mouth had been shy and sensual, Link's were almost vulgar. And Rhett enjoyed every second of it. How Link's deep blue eyes went from wide to hooded as he slowly moved his mouth around the finger, allowing it's release if only so he could drag his tongue up the length of the long digit. Rhett's heart was beating like a jackhammer and his pants were tight. If Link was that good with just a finger in his mouth...Rhett pushed the idea from his mind. He was here to learn to cook, not come in his pants like a teenager.

    "Mmm. It's so good, Rhett. Great job." Rhett blushed.

    "Can I tell you something, Link?" Rhett sat back at his stool, trying to give his raging emotions some distance from the strong, sexy chef.

    "Go for it." Link stood on the other side of the island, rolling the pasta into thin sheets.

    "I begged my boss to pull some strings and get me here sooner than October. I wanted to see you again. When I first saw you the other day, wow. I felt like a kid with a crush all over again. I didn't expect you to invite me to a private lasagna lesson, though. I figured I'd eat some amazing food, meet some cool people, stare at a handsome chef and go home. I didn't think you'd let me back into your classroom after I left like an idiot, so I wanted an excuse to see you and maybe apologize for, well, being me."

    "You think I'm handsome?" Link stopped rolling the dough, a surprised grin on his face.

    Rhett looked down at the counter, lifting his head just enough to catch Link's eye. "Yeah. Yeah, I do."

    The next thing Rhett knew, Link's hands were on his bearded face, his knees in the pasta. He was kneeling on the counter top with his forehead touching Rhett's. His lips hovering over his. Stunned, Rhett could only stutter out a flabbergasted "what...what are you doing?"

    "I don't know." Link breathed out, catching Rhett's lips in his, sending sparks from his body to the larger body. Rhett stood, never breaking the kiss. He grabbed Link's thigh, directing him to pull his legs out and rest on his backside. Link obliged, wrapping his legs around Rhett's waist instead. Rhett's left hand remained on Link's tiny waist while his right hand anchored him to the counter top, their lips remained locked until Rhett pulled away, gasping for air.

    Rhett gently pushed Link back, laying him flat on the counter, sliding him so that his hips were flush with his at the edge. He dragged his hands down Link's neck, down his chest, bringing them back to rest on Link's waist. He slid Link's shirt up, baring his tiny bellybutton and exposed ribs. He leaned down, kissing the newly exposed flesh, nipping and licking. He traced circles with his tongue and smiled every time Link let a flustered "oh" escape his perfect pink lips. Link's hands grasped at Rhett's strong shoulders, his head arched back, his dark hair sprinkled with flour. Rhett's long, agile fingers worked at opening the dark blue jeans Link wore.   
"Is this okay?" Rhett stole a long kiss from Link. Link nodded, desperately urging Rhett to continue. Rhett slid the denim down until it met Link's sneakers at his narrow ankles. Rhett pulled the shoes off hastily. The pants had to go.

    "Yours. Take yours off." Link breathed, propping himself up on his elbows, the pasta dough-now a gummy mess- was stuck to him. He watched, licking his lips, as Rhett unbuttoned his jeans and slid them down to his ankles. His cock was long, thick and incredibly hard and it made Link's twitch with anticipation. Rhett brought his lips to Link's exposed dick, sliding it into his mouth. Much like he had done with Link's finger. But on a larger scale. A larger, hotter, sexier scale. Link gasped loudly at the sudden warm sensation surrounding himself. God, it felt better than when it was just his finger.

    "Oh, holy...Rhett. My goodness." Link ran his hands through the stiff blonde hair.

    "Can I? Do you wanna?" Rhett raised his eyebrows.

    "You'd better. Get that olive oil." Rhett reached to the end of the island and coated his hands and his cock with the slick liquid. Using his fingers, he began to open Link up which caused several shuddered cries and breathy "more, please. Oh, yes!" to echo through the small room.

    "Ready?" Rhett instructed Link to wrap his legs around his torso as he inserted himself into Link's waiting hole. Link cried out in a pained pleasure as contact was made. Hands explored one another with every thrust. Link pulled himself up to wrap his long arms around Rhett's strong neck, using the new leverage to drive himself down on Rhett as Rhett thrust into him. Rhett held him tighter with every thrust until he came hard and forcefully into Link. Link followed, spilling himself between them. Rhett's grip loosened on Link's hips, but Link held on to Rhett- not ready to let go. He kissed Rhett warmly on the lips. Both men were breathing heavy and covered in sweat, flour and bits of pasta dough.

    "Looks like dinner is ruined." Link groaned looking at the mess under them.

    "That's okay. You'll just have to teach me again." Rhett winked and kissed the smaller man again.

* * *

* * *

_**Sunday, May 28th** _

    Link rolled out of bed, catching a quick glimpse of the sleeping giant in his bed. His golden skin bared naked in crisp white sheets. He smiled and pulled on a pair of flannel pajama bottoms before gently padding out to the front door of his small house. He gathered up the paper from the stoop and carried it back inside, shutting the door with his hip. He opened the paper to the culture section as he prepared a mug of coffee, scanning the pages for his favorite column. He read the article, well written and unbiased. He'd heard all these compliments about his food before, from different critics and reporters. It was the last line of the article that caused him to spit his coffee out and call out to the sleeping man.

    "Rhett! What the hell!?"

    "What? What did I do?" He wiped the sleep from his eyes and saw the folded up newspaper in his hand.

    " _'All in all,_ Aroma _is the best restaurant out there. I suggest you make your reservation now and make all the proper arrangements because Mr. Neal's food will blow you away. My personal favorite was the lasagna. Five stars.'_ Really, Rhett? The lasagna?"

    Rhett smiled at his own wit and blatant euphemism as he wrapped his arms around the smaller man's naked torso and placed a sloppy wet kiss on his neck. "You're right, I shouldn't have mentioned the lasagna. Now everyone is gonna wanna try it, and I don't share."

**Author's Note:**

> I really wanted to call this fic Rhettatoullie because I am an idiot.   
> (also, I have no idea how to cook, or anything related to making a meal. I am however, very familiar with butchering tables and authentic Amish Whoopie Pies.)


End file.
